


The mark of God

by Culut_camia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Flagstaff, Incest, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Soulmarks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culut_camia/pseuds/Culut_camia
Summary: God had created the marks on their arms so that their souls could find each other and be united.  Thus man would know happiness. Then why had God given him the name of his brother? Was he really that damaged?
Relationships: Castiel/Meg Masters, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [La marca de Dios](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865785) by [Culut_camia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culut_camia/pseuds/Culut_camia). 



**This fic is translated from Spanish. I apologize for any mistakes that may be found in it. Remarks and corrections are welcome.**

.

.

1

Time did not yet exist, and it would not exist until He created mortal life, day, night, Eden. As soon as time existed, his children would learn to count the years, differentiate the former angels as "the elders" and become accustomed to measuring their existence by numbers. As soon as time was born, His children would be able to affirm that He spent long centuries perfecting, contemplating and modifying what He called "His greatest work".

But the angels did not yet know what time was.

“How is Daddy's special creation going?” asked Lucifer with a sneer.

Michael, the eldest, who was observing his father's progress from a respectful distance, gave him a reproachful look.

“It’s taking shape.”

“«It's taking shape»," his brother mocked. “It will be another failure, like the monsters that came out last time, you'll see.”

“Don't you dare to question our father,” Michael rested a hand on the handle of his sword, defiant in pose and expression.

Lucifer backed away with false smugness. He was young and still intimidated by his brother, something he would never admit.

“Easy, Mich. He doesn't even hear me," he muttered before retiring.

But his father heard everything. He could hear the bitterness in the voice of his favorite son, produced by the mark that the Darkness had left on him as revenge, spreading inside the grace of Lucifer like a corrosive poison. To know that soon He would lose his son was a martyrdom, but his sorrow was lightened when He had in his hands the final product of the work in which He had put so much effort. He observed the result, enjoying the warmth and purity that emanated from it.

The light attracted the attention of the few angels who had permission to be in His presence, but Michael was the only one brave enough to approach without an invitation.

“What is that?” he asked.

His gaze was fixed on the luminous vapor that was turning on itself and the fascination shown in his expression filled God with pride, because what He had in his hands was what the Leviathans had lacked.

“A soul.”

He noticed that his son did not understand, but the angel nodded just to please him. Anyway, the concept had just been born; Michael, as well as the rest of his children, would soon understand the beauty of the soul, the value placed on it. Even He, its creator, could not stop admiring it enraptured. It was so... fragile. Then something that He had never experienced before came over Him: fear. Not fear for his existence, as the Darkness had felt after understanding what He and his archangels were doing to her, nor the fear his angels felt while facing the cruel gaze of Raphael, the jokes of Gabriel, the abuses of Lucifer or the screams of Michael. No. His fear was focused on that poor, defenseless creation that depended on his hands to keep shining.

The soul had just been born, but He already loved it. He loved it even more tan He loved his favorite son. This frightened Him. He wanted to protect it, to make it happy, but how could He do that? Wouldn't it feel alone, different, separated from the angels because of its weakness? With determination He took both ends and pulled. The soul shone with force, so much so that Michael had to squint his eyes. He remained unaffected, focused on not harming his newborn. When He finished, the soul was divided in two.

“Why?” Michael began to ask, but held back his curiosity. He didn't mean to question his father.

“So it won't be alone. So that it has a way to be happy, no matter what.”

“Happy?”

He didn't expected his son to understand. With a wave of his hand He told him to leave, as He had to finish the last details of his masterpiece. He needed to create the perfect containment so that his precious creation could unfold in all its splendor.

He created the land, but it did not work. He created the plants, but it didn't work. He created invertebrates, mammals and life of every kind, but the soul was unable to be entirely anchored, although a little remained in every container and expanded until it formed a new figure, its own, which did not reach the greatness of the pure soul but resembled its beauty and value. Amazed, he understood that his creation had the capacity to multiply.

Thus, he gave life to Eden. Thus, Adam was born, and Eve was born. They were empty, until He appointed them perfect to contain His creation; He extended his hands, and with a fragment of the soul in each one, touched the first humans, making them unique and beautiful. On their forearms letters appeared, a mark similar to that carried by Lucifer, though pure and good. He saw them meet and then discovered that the fragments of the soul wished to unite. Adam could not be without Eve, and Eve could not be without Adam; wherever they went, they missed each other, called each other, and looked for each other.

Then Lucifer, full of envy, took advantage of the circumstance, wich he called a “small failure", and taught them to look at each other in an unthinkable way. Their bodies met in a fruitless attempt to unite their souls, at least for a moment.

"We are happy when we are close, we feel complete when we are together. But when we touch each other, something inexplicable happens inside us, and it feels better than anything else that might exist," was the explanation they gave.

It was aberrant. He could not tolerate it; in his eyes, his creation was corrupt. The mark on their arms was but a variation of the mark that the Darkness had left on his son, while in Lucifer the hatred and rancor continued to increase. Then, something incredible happened: his creation was able to bring forth life. But with the birth of Cain and Abel, Lucifer's intentions became darker.

And his son marked Cain.

And that was the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

2

He stamped his fist against the boy's jaw and couldn't stop hitting him. He was furious, indignant, fed up with that bully.

A voice in his mind, tempered by anger, tried to remind him how terrible that was. He should stop. He wanted to be normal, he wanted to have friends and feel like all twelve year olds did. To do that he should remember that normal kids don't have combat experience, he should think about how he would be the school freak (or worse: the new bully) after that, he should think about the look that teachers would give him, disappointed that a "bright" student like Sam reacted with so much violence. He should think about what his father would say, after trying so hard to find a school where they could stay for a couple of months, at Sam's insistence.

But all he could think about was the proud smile Dean would give him.

He was defending himself, he was giving that smug kid his due and he was showing that he was stronger than them. Those were things Dean always encouraged. Besides, he wasn't doing it for fun: his cause was noble, although some would object that violence was not the solution. That boy, Rudy or Ruben -or something similar- hadn't ceased to annoy him since the first day of school, but he didn't stop at Sam alone. He had seen him pick on more than one boy and even some girls. Normally Sam could ignore such behavior - idiots would be everywhere - but that day Rudy or Ruben, or whatever, climbed a step higher on the ladder of bullying and jumped from ridiculous insults to physical attack.

The moment Sam saw him raise his fist against Chris, a small and visibly weaker boy, just because he had gotten an A+ on a project that anyone willing to study could pass, he decided it was enough. To be honest, Sam had not reacted with complete violence: first he offered him a chance to repent, he was diplomatic and tried to make him see that his behavior would not get him anywhere; of course, the boy responded with a sneer, showing himself to be reckless in believing that he had a physical advantage over Sam.

Rudy or Ruben -or whatever- pushed him once, twice, three times. A fist accompanied the third, which Sam had no trouble dodging. Fed up, he pounced on the other guy. He showed him that being bigger didn't make him the strongest in the class.

::

"... after ALL the effort I made to get you into this school, this is how you thank me?” John hit the steering wheel, angrily.

He may not have been angry with Sam for his actions, but for the fact that he had to endure the principal's monologue after being summoned to discuss his children's inappropriate behavior. Although the main topic was Sam's fight, the man did not miss the opportunity to point out to John that his eldest son was not a saint either. If asked, Sam would say that his father's reprimand was unfair: he, too, had to endure the martyrizing hour it took the principal to finish his argument.

He assumed that for his father, who had urgent matters to deal with the creatures of darkness, that lost time was worth much more than it was for Sam.

“I thought I taught you better than this!,” he continued.

Sam leaned his head against the back seat window with a sigh. He watched the houses they left behind with speed until he noticed Dean's gaze. His brother, who was riding in the passenger seat, turned his head to give him a smile and a proud expression that flooded Sam with a warm and pleasant feeling. Dean was great, popular, tall and strong, the opposite of Sam, so on those rare occasions when his brother was openly proud, he couldn't help but feel that for an instant they were both at the same level, as equals.

He returned his gaze to the street with a tiny smile, the grumpiness of before replaced by a feeling of lightness thanks to which he could ignore his father's screams.

::

John stayed with them for two hours in the motel room. As soon as they entered the room, the first thing the man did was to head for the freezer, get a beer and collapse on the kitchen-dining room chair. His features continued to pucker severely but his manner showed that much of the anger had faded and given way to exhaustion. The children, cautious, remained silent so as not to risk rekindling the muted anger. Dean turned on the TV and turned the volume down, changing channels repeatedly. Sam, however, took out the book they had been assigned in Literature class, which he had found so compelling, and sat down on the couch to read.

An hour later, John left the empty bottle on the table, stood up and went to his children. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and smiled sadly as the youngest raised his head to look back at him.

“I'll be back tomorrow," he said.

A second later, the door closed behind him. The two boys knew that "tomorrow" could mean either two days or a week, so they were under no illusions.

Sam stopped his reading after Dean turned up the volume on the TV, listening absently to the program's dialogue. Curiously, he paid attention to what the actors were saying. “Are you... watching ‘Divided Heart’?” he asked incredulously as he watched the screen.

He knew his brother liked romantic novels with an excess of drama - contrary to what Dean thought, he didn't hide it well enough - but this bordered on the ridiculous! 'Divided Heart' was the novel of the year, which included all the stereotypes that could be expected of the genre. From bad acting to a terrible script. The plot revolved around a humble boy who, by chance of fate, ended up working for his soul mate, a handsome millionaire who, due to a mysterious skin disease, never received the name of his predestined. Of course, the handsome man was engaged to an evil woman who had altered the name on his forearm to pose as his soul mate and obtain his entire fortune.

Sam could not suppress a laugh.

"I can't believe you're watching this!"

"Shut up," Dean changed channels quickly. "I wasn't watching it, I was just... waiting for it to end."

"Yes, right," he said with a sly smile.

He certainly didn't want Dean to be ashamed of his tastes, but it was his duty as a brother to make fun of them; Dean wouldn't hesitate to call him "princess" if the situation was reversed.

"What the hell are you reading?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, it's a light reading they gave us in class, the story is interesting."

“You call that light?” He looked at the number of pages with his eyes wide open. “God, you're such a nerd.” He turned off the TV and started to walk towards the kitchen, stroking Sam's head as he passed by.

Sam pulled away pretending to be annoyed.

"Your hair is long," Dean said, distracted.

Sam snorted, sure those words would be followed by some of the feminine nicknames Dean had been giving him as of late.

"I know. I have to cut it."

"Nah. It's the new fashion, and long suits you."

"Yeah?"

He touched a lock of the bangs that fell on his forehead like a curtain. If Dean said so...

"Would I lie to you?" Dean winked at him in an exaggerated grimace that did not inspire confidence. "I'll be out for a minute, flea. I'll be right back."

He took the motel keys and left. Sam got up almost immediately, walked to the bathroom and looked inside the cabinet for two creams: one for healing and one for moisturizing. He rubbed each one on his injured knuckles. The intense pain that had been caused by hitting the other boy had stopped as he waited in front of the principal's office, but he wasn't going to neglect his skin. Of course, he had to be careful or Dean would tease him for a week if he was caught with the moisturizer on hand. He went into the kitchen to get some ice and, wrapping it in a cloth, held it against his fingers for a few minutes.

By the time Dean returned, Sam was immersed in the reading again, even though he had only advanced four pages before the noise of the keys distracted him. His brother walked through the door carrying a bag.

"Hey, I brought you a present," he said, sitting on the couch next to Sam. He took a soda and a chocolate bar out of the bag.

"Why?"

"For giving that idiot what he deserved."

Inside the bag was a shopping ticket that Dean did not allow him to examine. The candy from the motel had run out and they had been living on the leftovers John brought from the nearest bar for several weeks. These were not a delicacy, since one of the rules John had imposed on them was not to make unnecessary expenses. This included any kind of food. For his father, one meal a day was enough and having more than that was a luxury; Dean respected that to the core, so if he had spent money it meant he had used a portion of his savings on that purchase. For Sam.

The above-mentioned could not help but admire Dean with appreciation.

Sam hated the life he had been given, but for all the bad things God had given him, he had made up for it by giving him Dean. His brother was the only good thing in his life, and he was certain that that would never change.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Dean began scratching his forearm.

Of course, this had not gone unnoticed by Sam. As a child and a younger brother, he paid obsessive attention to everything Dean did or said, and what happened on the older brother's forearm was of special interest to him. After all, Dean would be the first to get his mark, the first to know the name of his soul mate, the one who would make him happy and with whom he would feel complete and invincible.

Sam dreamed of the day when it would be his turn to have the mark. He dreamed of going forth in search of his "better half" and away from that hunter's life that had caused him so much sorrow. He dreamed of feeling whole, wondering what that feeling of plenitude would be like, which adults promised so much even though he didn't feel any lack in his soul. Or maybe he didn't know how to identify it. In school he was taught that everyone had an emptiness inside that would be soothed by meeting their soul mates, so it was natural for humans to feel sad, lost and unmotivated for no reason.

"It won’t be permanent. Someday, when you have your mark, you will feel the call and all the anguish will go away when you meet your other half," Professor Mongomery used to say to them with a dreamy smile, no doubt thinking of his wife.

When Sam heard about this supposed emptiness, he could not help but be disconcerted, seeking from his classmates some expression similar to his own that would demonstrate that this emptiness was nothing more than a myth that people were determined to believe. However, in the faces around him he never saw anything but relief and hope, as if those nine, ten, eleven year old children knew what it was like to long for something remote. Sam didn't understand. He had never felt anything like it; the moments of sadness in his life had always had a foundation: when his father broke his promise to be on time for his birthday or when he regretted not being able to have the things other children had because of the life he lived. Dean's presence was the only thing that could comfort him in those moments.

What he did understand was that to lose the second half of the soul meant a constant and absolute pain, a thousand times worse than the void that others said they perceived within. He knew his father's soul had shattered into a thousand pieces after Mary's death, and he had seen that same pain reflected in many of the hunters his father knew. Bobby was one of them, always with a tormented expression, restless. But that was something most people tried not to think about. The dream would go as far as the moment the souls met, whatever came after that didn't matter.

For Sam the promise of a perfect match who would love him, understand him and want to be by his side forever was reason enough to wake up every day with the certainty that someday life would improve. Of course, he also wanted to love, understand and be with his destined one forever. The person created by God especially for him. Just the thought of it caused a smile to crease his lips.

Dean didn't share his enthusiasm.

“Why get my hopes up for a person I'll probably never meet? The chances of finding my soul mate are pretty slim," he would say when the subject came up.

Sam knew that these words were a facade and that his brother was merely afraid. He supposed it was natural to feel that way at sixteen, when you were so close to being given a "name". Reactions could vary for every teenager. Sam was sure Dean feared the Calling, the one that would lead him to head out in pursuit of his soul mate. John would even give him advice from time to time, but Dean never seemed to listen.

The Call was an impulse that arose at the age of eighteen, when the "name" fully appeared on the skin. People who had the opportunity went out to meet their soul mate, guided by the Call that showed them the right path; others had no choice but to wait, however, sooner or later everyone found their destined partner. The chances of two souls finding each other had increased nowadays. Technological advances, ever greater, served to facilitate the encounter between people, contrary to what used to happen in the past, where men and women felt a Call coming from the other side of the ocean, unable to reach it.

By the time Dean turned seventeen, black strokes on his forearm were already distinguishable that would gradually form letters. The day Dean casually remarked that he could see one "i" and two "e's" in the _name_ , John bought him his first bracelet. It was a simple, inexpensive piece of leather, nothing ostentatious or valuable like those customarily given to firstborns. Although it used to be mandatory for people to cover their marks, as it was considered indecent to show them to the world, now the use of bracelets was optional, reserved for formal events and shy people.

According to the Bible, the mark appeared at the age of eighteen because that was the age at which God created Adam and Eve. Science, on the other hand, claimed that the mark appeared at the age of eighteen because of hormonal issues.

Dean reluctantly put the bracelet on, even though he had the option not to.

::

“Their last name is long," Sam muttered on one of the few occasions his brother allowed him to see the mark.

Dean was leaning back against the couch in a relaxed, disinterested pose. He held his arm outstretched, allowing Sam to observe the lines that had yet to finish forming. The black marks were disjointed, with a gap in the center that made it impossible to understand which letter was which, but it was getting closer to completion every day. The skin surrounding the black lines was red and showed signs of blood where Dean had scratched hard.

Sam longed to caress the black marks that decorated his brother's forearm, but that was too intimate an action, usually reserved for lovers, so he repressed the desire.

“Who's going to take the other one' s last name?

“Gee, Sam," Dean snorted, incredulously, "I don't even know their name yet.”

Sam shrugged.

“So what? I've already got it all planned out; when I meet my soul mate I'll be ready.”

“Of course you will.”

They fell into a pleasant silence, enjoying each other's company, the only constant they possessed in their erratic lives. The warmth that enveloped Sam diminished at a frightening pace and gave way to restlessness. Feeling a swirl of nausea in his stomach, he bit his lower lip before asking in an uncertain voice:

"Are you feeling the Call yet?”

"No." Dean kept his eyes fixed on the motel ceiling. "I don't even feel any different..."

Sam had to hide a sigh.

The last few months, every time John mentioned the possibility of Dean leaving them to go off in search of his soul mate, a knot formed in Sam's stomach. He didn't want Dean to leave, the prospect terrified him. Without him, Sam would be left alone, subjected to the overbearing, distant nature of a father who would be gone for days at a time because he'd rather lose himself in the bottle and the hunt than face the reality of what he'd done to his sons. Of how little he cared about ruining their lives.

“I don't want you to leave...” He admitted in a whisper.

He instantly regretted it, confident that Dean would scoff, certain that he had sounded like a frightened, weak, dependent child to his older brother. But Dean kept silent. After a while, he ruffled Sam's hair.

“Dumbass. I'm not going anywhere.” 

::

The next few weeks saw them busy hunting a werewolf.

It turned out to be a trickier job than expected, for the monster was no idiot. He knew how to hide and divert the hunters. He was experienced. However, he did not know John Winchester.

After days of traveling, investigating and fighting, they managed to take down the werewolf in an abandoned warehouse as the sun peeked over the horizon. Once John found the werewolf's lair, it was easy to corner him: he tricked its sense of smell and lured it into a trap, where the three of them surrounded it with guns and silver. The monster pounced on Sam, trying to use his age and size as an advantage, but John thwarted his plan in a hurry. A silver bullet to the head and subsequent decapitation stopped the beast for good.

Once out of danger, they began to retreat with slow, feeble movements; John picked up a couple of knives from the ground while Sam sat down on some timbers to catch his breath. In his fourteen years he had seen so many creatures of the dark rushing at him that the aberrant visage of the werewolf approaching at full speed with gaping maw held no terror for him. Still, the instinctive leap of the heart in the face of danger was inevitable. Dean, for his part, glanced down at the bracelet that concealed his mark and, standing where he was, pulled it back to glance at the lettering beneath. Sam smiled as Dean's eyes widened - a sure sign that the name was now legible - and was about to get up to go find out the name of the person God had designated ideal for his brother, but stopped when Dean's panic-laden eyes fell on him for a second before quickly turning away. Dean then turned his back on him and marched toward the Impala with long, firm strides.

The ride back to the motel was silent. Sam didn't notice at first, as the foremost thing they did was surrender to sleep, exhausted from the physical wear and tear they had put themselves through.

Dean stopped talking to him after that day.


End file.
